


Myfanwy

by orphan_account



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Emotional Baggage, Forgiveness, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mental Health Issues, One-Sided Attraction, Other, Panic Attacks, Pining, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Burn, Therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-21 13:10:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9550502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: During the Dominion War, Deep Space Nine agrees to take on some Cardassian refugees, meaning Garak has to come to terms with faces he’d rather forget. Updates on Mondays and Fridays.





	1. Chapter 1

For once in its life, Deep Space Nine was quiet.

It was quiet in a way that it rarely was - slow, sleepy, still. A time where it seemed like even the air itself hung thick and fat and unmoving in between the intricate Cardassian designs of the station. It was currently the early hours of morning, late enough that the stragglers from Quarks had gone to bed, but not yet time for the Promenade shops to be preparing for opening. In fact, only one shop showed any signs of life - the back room of Garak’s Clothiers emitted a little glow into the deserted corridor, with a Cardassian shadow indicating that Garak was awake, and was hunched over a computer terminal.

This was not by choice - if Garak could rest his scales, and could actually sleep uninterrupted by night terrors, anyone would be hard pressed to find him outside of his quarters. But no, his body had decided to eschew sleep altogether, and so he found himself at his terminal again, completing his latest code-breaking assignment, idly thinking over what had kept him up this time. He knew exactly what had caused his current batch of insomnia - the rumour grapevine had been going wild over speculations of Cardassian refugees coming to the station. He’d heard from Quark that many parties were not happy - some of the Federation personnel, almost all the Bajorans - so everything was very much being kept on the down low. Even Doctor Bashir, who was usually a fountain of unintended gossip, was remarkably clammy over the prospect of Cardassian refugees.

Cardassian refugees. Garak had never contemplated such a phrase being uttered in his lifetime. Kardasi didn’t even have a word for refugee - the closest was exile, _tascecic_ , but that didn’t carry quite the same connotations. No Cardassian would willingly leave the Union - even when the oilfields of Kai'argmi caught alight, the people nearest it only moved onto the colony worlds until the smoke died down. Cardassia was always supposed to be home - and still was to him at least - and the idea that Gul Dukat and the Dominion had made it impossible to live there filled him with a particular kind of dread. But it should not have been surprising - the Dominion presence on his homeworld had forced him to enter the fray, cracking their code and contributing to their downfall.

Speaking of which… Garak checked over his work on the terminal, before tapping the send key and watching as the confirmation message flash up on the screen. He leant back, and rubbed the corner of one of his eye ridges. He hated this, but it was a necessary evil. He wished it wasn’t, wished he didn’t have the feeling of blood dripping down his hands every time his fingers touched the keyboard, wished the death of his race, that he was contributing to, wouldn’t haunt his dreams whilst he tried to get what little sleep he could. Idly, he wondered how the refugees would react to knowing what he was doing. He could imagine their looks of horror, of disgust, because yes they’d left home, but at least they weren’t actively _killing_ their compatriots, at least they weren’t contributing to the downfall of their _home_ , and wondering had he been too long an exile to consider Cardassia home-

The walls were closing in again. Garak shut his eyes, and forced himself to breath. In, out, in, out, and the walls stopped shrinking but still loomed over him. With a particularly stressed exhale, Garak all but threw himself out of the console chair, and out of the entrance of his shop. He leant against the arch of the door, and rubbed at his _chufa_ , which was already collecting a little cold sweat. With a growl, he wiped his hand on the wall, and walked down the corridor, towards the lower level of Quark’s. It was late - late enough that only he roamed the halls, late enough that Garak could sneak the use of one of Quark’s holosuites after hours, but not too late that Engineering would be suspicious and alert Quark of unauthorized holosuite usage. He needed to get out of there, to somewhere… spacious. Less confined.

He rounded the curve of the Promenade, and paused at the end. Quark’s was not dark, which wasn’t a good sign - this meant Garak had to somehow bribe or otherwise convince the Ferengi bartender to allow him use of the holosuite. He slipped into the shadows and approached the bar, wondering what on earth had kept Quark up this late. Or perhaps it wasn’t Quark, but a mysterious late-night visitor - if so, Garak didn’t have much to worry about. Half-hiding himself behind a pillar, he peered around the corner, looking past the deserted dabo tables and empty bar stools, trying to identify any signs of life.

He spotted the reason for the light almost immediately - the lights behind the bar were on, the only source of light. A little to the left of the light, there was Odo in his ordinary beige uniform, and beside him, Doctor Bashir, his curly hair looking as if he’d only just pulled a brush through it. In the shadowy recesses of the bar, Garak could see several figures, surrounded by bags - humanoid, by the looks of things and the light reflecting off of them indicated scales, and occasionally there was a flick of a tail- _ah._ The Cardassian refugees. The voices were low, but distinctive - deeper in the shadows, Garak could hear Captain Sisko speaking in low tones, and if Captain Sisko was there, that meant Major Kira wasn’t far away.

“Your quarters have been prepared for you.” he was saying, in what Garak recognised as his most calm voice. “You should find the three family rooms to your liking.”

“Thank you.” A sibilant voice replied, from somewhere deep in the pack. “We’re very grateful for your… generosity. We can only apologize for our late arrival, but the situation at home-”

“-Is bad, we understand.” There was a pause. “Are you certain the family rooms are what you want? We can find you individual rooms, if you wish.”

“It’s fine. Cardassians prefer to stay in groups, when possible.” There was a murmur from behind Sisko- Kira made a comment maybe, but Garak’s Cardassian hearing couldn’t pick it out, and Sisko shot whoever it was a sharp look.

“If that’s what you want.” Sisko gave them a reassuring smile. “Your rooms are rather out of the way - they should ensure your privacy while you settle in. There may be a few… tensions when you’re first seen-”

“If there weren’t any tensions between Cardassians and Bajorans, I’d be surprised.” Someone in the crowd muttered, and there was a slight murmur of muffled laughter. Sisko smiled patiently, and waited for them to settle.

“Rest assured, our security chief Odo-” Sisko nodded to the dour-faced Changeling at the back of the room. “-will be ensuring you transition smoothly to life on the station. And for the most part, our patrons should not cause too much bother - they’ve become accustomed to our current resident Cardassian, at the least.”

‘Accustomed’ was such a diplomatic choice of words, Garak thought to himself. ‘Tolerated’ would’ve been better. Or ‘not at all comfortable but not daft enough to attack him openly and face the wrath of Odo’.

“Another Cardassian?” this voice sounded somewhat curious. “Are they… like us? Another refugee?”

“Not exactly.” Sisko shifted a little. “Mr. Garak lived here during the occupation.”

“Garak?!” Garak recognised the third voice in the crowd, but couldn’t put a finger on the name. It nagged at the back of his mind, the slightly reedy tenor, the catch of breath on the k of his name - somewhere in his mind there was a link, now where _was_ it…

“You know him?” Garak saw Major Kira, finally stepping into the light, her expression a barely concealed mask of interest.

“I... know of them- _him_.” The voice replied. Sisko waited for some more information, but after a few seconds it was clear the source of the voice wasn’t interested in explaining further.

“I see. But yes, Mr. Garak is our resident tailor - his shop is down the Promenade.” Several sets of eyes flicked towards his position, and Garak pushed himself further into the shadows. “He may have been here during the occupation, but I can… personally assure you that he holds no love for the Dominion.”

“That’s a relief.” the second voice muttered again, and there was a louder laugh. Sisko nodded with a slight smile.

“It is. Now, Constable Odo will take you down to your quarters. If you have any medical issue, Doctor Bashir-” The doctor blinked, and gave a small wave. “will be on hand in the morning.”

There was some murmurings of thanks, and slowly the group followed Odo down into a side hallway leading off from Quarks. Garak was still trying to puzzle out how he recognized that other voice, and as a result he nearly missed the stepping forward of one of the refugees. The barlights barely reflected off the mass of kinky, curly hair, tied back into a ponytail, but glimmered off their grey, dusty scales. Their penny brown eyes stared up at the sign of his shop, with almost an inscrutable look, and Garak was sure he knew them. It tickled the back of his mind, the toe claws that curved over the edge of their sandles, the constant fingering of a forelock braid, so much so that the hair was becoming loose and frayed, the flat nose, the long face, _where had he seen that face before_ -

And then it came to him, in a jolt of recognition - broken eyes at the bottom of a broken cage, tears caked on their face, hair matted into numerous knots of anxiety. Tain had rewarded him personally for torturing this one - four hours of staring, and watching them crumble from genial doctor to lost child. At the time, it was business - now, he could not help but feel the agonizing pain of watching Odo be interrogated again, and again, and _again_ and Garak knew that they remembered him, and all of a sudden he felt exposed, as if he were hanging on a wire and this person, this _Cardassian_ could unravel him whole, unravel him with the stories of a foolish young sycophant, and his heart clenched and twisted with the feeling of _watched, being watched,_ and all he could think about was _run, run, start running-_

“Doctor Parmak?” 

Parmak jerked suddenly, as if breaking out of a trance. With one last glance back at the door of Garak’s shop, they turned and hurried after the group, leaving Garak with a frantically beating heart and a cold feeling of dread.


	2. Chapter 2

Had anyone asked the refugees what kind of person Parmak was, they’d probably say ‘practical’, ‘calm’ or maybe even ‘not prone to histrionics’.

They probably would not have recognized the Cardassian collapsed against the metal desk in their room, hair spread like a halo around them, methodically thumping their head against the cool metal.

_ Thunk.  _

Coming here was a very bad idea, Parmak thought to themselves.

_ Thunk.  _

It was an incredibly stupid idea.

_ Thunk. _

The worst idea they’d ever had.

_ Thunk. _

Parmak lifted their head and stared unseeingly at the metal bulkhead in front of them, tucking their fist under their chin to stop themselves from hitting the desk again. But honestly, this was one of the worst ideas they’d had in awhile. What on Cardassia had possessed them to take this… this  _ joyride  _ to a station in a system where they were hated? With the one Cardassian they despised more than anything? They could be home right now, in their  _ own  _ house, with their  _ own  _ desk...

...and be surrounded by the constant surveillance of the Dominion, the threat of execution over their head and having to let Cardassians die to further the political control of the Dominion. Parmak gave the desk one last head thunk, before shoving the chair back and standing. They paced around the bare room - past the chrome polished replicator, brushing past the cuboid settee, past the Cardassian designed windows that were both familiar and foreign.

There was a reason for this, they had to remember that. A reason for the ten days of warp sickness, a reason for leaving their home and their personal belongings behind, a reason they were on a space station floating above Bajor. And they weren’t on their own - Cardassia had come with them in a sense. The eight of them, the eight refugees - they were a family of sorts. Telyn and Nura, a counsellor and a nurse from their hospital, who were going to be sharing rooms with them on DS9. And then the five in the other room - Napeth, Koronos, Mabyn, Alynant, and little Corryn - all friends and neighbours from their home town, all in the same situation as them. 

There was no need to panic. Telyn and Nura were just next door, they’d be back through soon, Parmak would feel safer then. 

They just needed to breathe.

Just breathe.

Parmak leant back against the desk, shaking their head. They were exaggerating things, honestly. It shouldn’t matter to them if Garak was on the station or not - the place was big enough for them to avoid each other, and the good Captain had already said he was trustworthy. And anyway, hadn’t Parmak already forgiven him? They can remember the half-fevered imaginings, wondering what would happen if they’d met back on Cardassia Prime. They imagined themselves strong, the right hand of Alon Ghemor, compassionate but emotionally uninvolved, and Garak a broken wreck of a man trying to hold on to the last scraps of a dying society. He’d ask for their forgiveness, and they would accept it, and Parmak would guide and mold him into an upstanding citizen, a good man.

It was easy to forgive that pitiful fragment of their imagination, but in their traumatic ravings they’d forgotten that Garak was more than a two dimensional being, defined only by what he had done and what he stood for. The sign of his store was a punch in the gut, a sign that Garak had moved on, was not haunted by the ghosts of their shared past, was  _ successful _ . And that hurt more than anything, knowing that he built his life up and was  _ successful _ as Parmak toiled on Cardassia Prime, lifeless and terrified and forever haunted by his eyes, his  _ eyes _ , watching the years run away from them until their emotional baggage was untangled and hidden away in lost mental crevices. 

How could they forgive a successful man, who’d clearly forgotten them, forgotten the trail of bodies left in their wake? How could they stay, knowing he was only a few minutes away, unknowing and uncaring? Elim Garak probably had  _ friends,  _ maybe even  _ family,  _ people who had no idea about Parmak or any of the other victims of the Obsidian Order, who were interrogated by Garak, or even killed by him. Stars, this trip was an  _ awful  _ idea, they wanted  _ home  _ and  _ safety,  _ they wanted to stop the universe for a few moments and just  _ get off _ , escape him, escape  _ everything _ , it was too much, too  _ soon- _

_ Breathe, Parmak, breathe! _

The whiteness of their knuckles against their pebble-grey skin was the first thing they noticed as they came to. They panted, relaxed their hands and tried to regain control of their breathing, feeling cold sweat already beading and dripping down the back of their neck. A slow blink, then Parmak pushed against the desk, the cold metal pressing into their hands as they rocked back on their heels and hollowed their back. An almost ritualistic move - meant to relax, to ease tension in their muscles - one they’d done thousands of times, so many times that the breathing patterns were second nature, and became a good way to stave off panic. Hollowed back, then stretching up, shoulder roll, sway, one two three left, one two three right… 

“Doctor Parmak?”

Parmak didn’t even twitch - they recognised the voice, and Parmak knew Telyn had caught them doing this too many times for them to be embarrassed.  They let their arms float gently to their sides, and exhaled, before turning to Telyn with a small smile. 

“Telyn.” they said quietly. “Everyone’s settled in alright?”

“Yeah,” Telyn replied, shutting the door behind them. “Corryn’s a little anxious about the big move, but Nura’s nursing them before bed so they should settle.”

“Good, good.” Parmak watched as Telyn untied their hair from the elaborate knot, and let it fall straight down the back of their tan tunic. “How are you?”

“Stressed. Tired. Exhausted. But alright, I suppose.” Telyn’s dark eyes peered a little closer at Parmak, then tapped at their  _ chufa _ on their forehead with two fingers. “What about you? Your  _ chufa _ looks beaten again.”

Parmak raised their fingers to their own  _ chufa,  _ and winced at the sharp pain when they touched it - they didn’t realise how badly they’d hurt it. “A bad spell.” they admitted, lowering their hand. “I’m alright - I stopped myself before I could get too bad.”

“That’s good.” Telyn perched on the edge of the desk, their arm a warm comforting pressure against Parmak’ shoulder and their tail hooked around Parmak’ ankle. “You need to talk about it?”

Parmak thought for a moment, but the feelings - _ yes, no, not serious, too serious, overreaction - _ came flooding back, and they sharply shook their head, “Not now. Later, maybe. It’s too… raw. I need time.”

“Okay. Take your time.” Telyn watched them for a moment more. “Is there anything I can do? Maybe get Nura to take a regenerator to that bruise of yours?”

“That… that would be nice. If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, could you make the room… safer? I don’t trust myself right now.”

“Of course.” Telyn hopped down from the desk. “I saw in the other rooms there were razors in the bathroom - I’ll take those out for you. There may be something in the bedrooms - have you picked which room you want?”

“Err…” Parmak scratched the back of their head sheepishly, eyeing the pile of abandoned bags by the door. Telyn’s mouth twitched into a smile.

“I see not. Take your pick, and I’ll clear out the bathroom for you. Then take a shower, and I’ll clear the bedroom. The water’ll make you feel a little better - did you know they have running water showers here? It’s  _ amazing _ -”

Parmak allowed themselves and their bags to be herded into one of the small bedrooms, before Telyn darted into the bathroom, already examining the bathroom cabinets for any dangerous items. It was an agreement of theirs, a pact - they would each remove each other’s relevant triggers from the room if the other needed them gone. It didn’t take them long - they were out in five minutes with an armful of things, in which time Parmak had only removed their shoes and one sock. They gleefully disintegrated the lot as Parmak hunted around for a towel in their bags, before ushering Parmak into the bathroom so they could shower in peace.

After two years of sonic showering, and ten days of no showering at all, the real water of the shower was unadulterated bliss on their sore joints and scales. Parmak wasn’t even surprised to see the water brown and muddy from the dust for the first few minutes, but it wasn’t long before the water ran clear, and Parmak felt somewhat alive again. Their hair was thankful for it too, after finally seeing some soap, and losing its inherent frizziness as a result. Nura was outside the shower when they finally turned the shower off, holding a dermal regenerator and a face that brooked no argument. Parmak honestly was too tired, and too pleased about the shower to care about the intrusion - and besides, Nura had trained under them, and had picked up all their habits, both good and bad, including the ability to breeze past any social norms to care for a recalcitrant patient. 

“It’ll be sore for a few days.” they told them, as they sat pyjama clad in the main room. “But I should be able to dissipate the discolouration.”

Parmak shut their eyes as the blue light inched a little too close to one of them. “That’s fine - I’ll just take a painkiller. It’ll help with the headache, at least.”

“Hmm. Let me check that headache isn’t any more serious,  then you can go to bed.” Nura reached back into a nearby open bag, and withdrew a tricorder. “How are you feeling right now?”

“Exhausted. A little sick. I’m too tired to feel anything else.”

“That’s understandable.” The tricorder whizzed and bleeped in their hand. “Looks like there’s no permanent damage - you should be good to go. Remember we’re here for you if you need it, allright?”

“Alright.” Parmak stood up and stretched out, feeling their scales creak. “Can we replicate medications here?”

“Only basic painkillers. Oh, there’s a replication lock on it too.”

“I’m guessing Telyn asked for it?”

“Yeah. Only half a pack of pain medication medication a day, no sleeping tablets or laxatives, no needles or blades, and a limit of one glass of alcohol. And you can’t replicate them at the same time.”

“I can work with that.” Parmak shambled over to the replicator, and replicated the requisite medication. “I’ll head to bed then. Unless I’m needed somewhere?”

“Not tonight.” Nura stretched out into a lying position on the floor, snagging a pillow from the settee to rest on. “Look after yourself. Don’t bottle up everything - you know Telyn and I are here if you need to talk about something.”

“I know, it’s just…” Parmak took a moment to swallow the medication dry. “...difficult. Raw. Painful.”

“That’s alright. You speak when you’re ready. Just don’t hold back because you want to appear the ‘strong, silent Gul’ type. You know that doesn’t help anyone.”

“I know.” They tucked the pills into their pyjama pocket. “Goodnight, Nura. And thank you - thank Telyn for me too, will you?”

“Of course. Have a good night’s sleep, Dr Parmak.”

Parmak doubted they would, but they took the sentiment at face value, and smiled back at Nura as they went into the bedroom, and settled in for their first night on Deep Space Nine.


	3. Chapter 3

It had been a week, and Garak had seen neither hide nor hair of his new Cardassian neighbours.

Garak would’ve expected something by now. A late night explore around the habitat ring, or maybe a late-night food raid at the replimat, but no. Nothing that could indicate the presence of a group of Cardassians. It’s not like it was brand new news anymore either - their arrival on the station had been a total secret, and therefore it was all over Quark’s by lunch time. Garak himself had received a number of visits from curious (and occasionally aggressive) patrons to his store, who all wondered if he knew them and if he knew why they were here in the first place, but the number had dwindled as everyone realised he didn’t know anything, and the topic had gotten stale. Honestly, Garak would’ve been surprised if anyone would bat an eyelid should one of them pop their heads above the parapet.

Needless to say, Garak was _intensely_ curious. And when all his other avenues for information provided nothing, there was only one place Garak could go.

“I saw a group of them once.” Quark told him, leaning on the bar conspiratorially. “Just out by the door there. Just before closing time.”

“Did you now?” Garak blinked at him in interest, a glass of _kanar_ sitting in front of him, that he’d superficially bought for access to Quark’s gossip. “All of them?”

“No - three of them. Seemed to be nosing around, seeing where everything was. Of course, I came over to invite them into the bar-”

“Of course you did.” Garak snorted and drank some of his kanar. Quark flatly ignored the comment.

“-and one of them snapped at me! Actually snapped their teeth at me! Can you believe that?”

Given Quark’s propensity for harassment when hunting for a sale, Garak wouldn’t have been surprised had one actually been aggressive towards him. But he didn’t voice his thoughts, instead sipping a little more of his kanar.

“I don’t know why you were trying to solicit them, Quark.” he said, after a few moments. “It’s not like they’ll be that rich, given that they’re fleeing a warzone.”

“I don’t know - war is good for business-”

“It becomes less profitable the closer you get. I thought you would’ve learnt that from the Dominion occupation.”

Quark threw his hands up in frustration. “That was one time! This is different - they’re _Cardassians_ , fully capable of drinking and spending the nights playing Dabo.”

“Not at your prices, they’re not.”

“As if you can talk. I’ve noticed you’ve put your prices up recently.”

“I don’t think refugees will be in any position to be buying clothes right now.” Garak drained the last of his kanar, feeling the end of this conversation and his patience rapidly approaching. Quark clearly didn’t know anything, just like everyone else on the station. Quark, however, had other ideas.

“So they haven’t been by to visit you, then?” he asked, watching him carefully. Garak put his glass down rather firmly on the bar.

“When did I say that?”

“You implied it. Do you know them?”

“I can’t exactly know _every_ Cardassian that passes this station, Quark.”

“But you know _most_ of them. Or at least, you’ve known most of the ones that pass this way. It’s not too much of a jump to assume you know this lot.”

“Well, I don’t.” Garak pushed himself away from the bar and stood. “I’d best get back to my quarters. Good evening, Quark.”

Quark sighed dramatically, and pressed the palm of his hand into his cheek. “Fine. Be secretive. I’ll just have to work it out of Doctor Bashir.”

That made Garak pause. “Doctor Bashir trusts you less than he does me.” he said, shaking his head. “You won’t get anything out of him.”

“I don’t know - I’ve heard him discussing it with Chief O’Brien.” He picked up Garak’s abandoned glass, and inspected it, pretending not to notice Garak’s irritated little twitch at the mention of the Bashir-O’Brien relationship. “Would you be up for a little bet, Garak? A few strips on who can find out the most about our new guests?”

Garak laughed bitterly. “No.” he said, firmly turning his back on Quark. “I don’t have the time, and quite frankly, you’ll soon find out there’s not much about them to be discovered.”

Quark’s protests followed him as he stalked out of the bar, but his mind was fixated on one thing: he had to find out what exactly Dr Bashir knew about the newest additions to the station.

BREAK

Through some planning, guile and a happenstance incident involving Chief O’Brien and a malfunctioning conduit, Garak had managed to wrangle a lunch date with Doctor Bashir a few days later, on their usual table at the Replimat. It had been quite the feat - Doctor Bashir never really spoke to him anymore, which meant Garak’s plan for ensnaring him included waylaying him in the one place he could predictably be - the infirmary. The burn from his laser cutter had hurt badly, but it was a necessary sacrifice, and a profitable one, given that Dr Bashir did not take much convincing. Garak had even had the pleasure of seeing a badly fried O’Brien apologize profusely for not being able to join him for lunch.

It was in good spirits that Garak settled down in the Replimat with his meal of Ha’bratian fried fish and I’danian spiced pudding. Not even the voices and chatter which were considerably louder than usual, or the constant half-glancings at him from the other patrons were bothering him as badly as they normally did. Garak did initially wonder what all the fuss was about, and it didn’t take him long to find out - hidden away in a little corner of the Replimat was a small group of Cardassians. He watched the covertly for a little while, as they argued amongst themselves - he didn’t recognise the two younger Cardassians, but Dr Parmak stood out like a sore thumb. Perhaps the two younger were his children? Their second-tongue Kardasi, the _Un,_ was familial, and the short-haired one signed like the doctor, but Garak could not be sure without openly examining them.

“I’m glad they’ve finally come out of their quarters.” Bashir said, eyeing them as he set down his meal of Bajoran cold stew. “I was a little worried that they’d be too intimidated to come out publicly.”

“Cardassians are not hiders, my dear doctor.” Garak replied, cutting up his own food. “We don’t tend to hide under rocks for most of our lives.”

“Oh, I know that. But I also know that some people on the station haven’t been quiet about their opposition to them being on the station. I’m surprised you haven’t had a visit from them.”

Garak thought back on the visits from the more aggressive Bajorans, and snorted. “Certainly. Though they seemed perfectly happy to be fobbed off by a pair of tailored socks.”

Bashir laughed outright. “Socks! As if. Garak, you’re incorrigible.”

Garak laughed, and ate some more of his fish. “I suppose they haven’t visited the Infirmary yet?”

“Not yet. They’re like you in that regard.” Julian inspected a lump in his stew. “Is that a Cardassian thing - not liking doctors?”

“Cardassians in general don’t like off-worlders examining them. I wouldn’t take offence, Doctor.”

“Hmm. It’s not too bad though - I hear they have a doctor amongst them.”

“Dr Parmak.”

“You know them?”

“I know _of_ them.”

“And with you, that normally means you know them well.” Abandoning his stew for a moment, he leant forward on his elbows. “What are they like? Are they nice?”

And Garak thought _he_ would be the one to be investigating. “I don’t know, why don’t you say hello? They’re sat up there after all.”

Garak tipped his head to the small group of Cardassians, who were now huddled together, facing away from them. Julian looked over, and frowned.

“Which one?”

“If you can’t figure it out…” Garak went back to eating nonchalantly, ignoring Julian’s irritated look.

“I don’t have a medic-radar, Garak, let alone the ability to differentiate Cardassians by _rank_.”

“It’s easy enough - doctors are relatively high ranking. Which one is deferred to the most?”

Julian watched the group for a little while more, giving Garak ample opportunity to finish his fish, and move onto his I’danian spiced pudding.

“They seem to be listening to the older one a lot.” Julian finally said, turning back to the remnants of his stew. “The one with the braid, and the long hair. Is that them?”

Garak toyed with the idea of drawing it out longer, but decided it wouldn’t be in his best interests. “That’s them. I’m surprised you doctors haven’t convened for a meeting - that’s what you tend to do.”

Julian laughed. “Sometimes, yes. But no - I haven’t been introduced to them yet. Although everyone else thinks I have.”

Garak blinked, and tilted his head. “Are you saying you know nothing about them?”

“Not _nothing,_ just… nothing of interest. I could tell you their names, but I couldn’t put name to face, and I couldn’t tell you what they do for a living.”

Perhaps Quark was wrong then, and Julian truly did know nothing. “Wasn’t there a vetting procedure in place for them?” he asked, taking a bite of his pudding. “I’m very disappointed in Starfleet Intelligence.”

“There probably was,” Julian scraped the bottom of his bowl for the last scraps of stew. “but I wasn’t privy to that information. And even if I was, I wouldn’t be telling you about it.”

“Are you not in the least bit curious?”

“If I was, I’d go through the normal channels to find out - that is, I’d go over and say hello. If you’re curious about who they are, why don’t you do that?”

Garak imagined the look on Parmak’s face if he actually dared to approach them, and shook his head. “I prefer to observe before diving head first into something, unlike you.”

“So you’re not on good terms with them, then.”

Garak blinked. “That’s a rather impressive leap of logic, Dr Bashir.”

“I remember you with Rugal. You went straight up to him.”

“And look where that got me - a bitten hand and bruised pride. Not an experience I wish to repeat, thank you.”

Julian snorted, and finally stopped the scraping and put his spoon down. “Dr Parmak won’t bite. ‘Do no harm’, remember? Unless Cardassians don’t take the Hippocratic Oath…”

“I don’t know if they do, and I don’t particularly want to find out.”

“Why not? Are they someone from your spy days?”

“I cannot believe you are still holding onto the notion that I am a Cardassian spy.”

“I can’t believe you’re still denying it.” Julian cleaned his mouth with his serviette, and stood. “Fine, keep your secrets. I’ll find someone who will tell me - perhaps Quark?”

Well, that confirmed it. Quark knew nothing, and Julian also knew nothing. Garak hid his frustration behind a pleasant smile.

“If it will make you feel better.” Garak said. “Will you be heading back to the Infirmary now?”

“Oh no - I said I’d join Miles in Vic’s for the last part of my lunch break. He should be finished with that conduit.”

Garak’s smile became a little forced. “Of course. Give the Chief my regards, would you?”

“I will. It was good catching up, Garak - maybe we can do it again sometime?”

And before Garak could even reply, Julian was out of his seat and heading towards the door. Garak nearly snarled, and stabbed viciously at his I’danian spiced pudding, very carefully not looking at the table of Cardassians to his left.

 


	4. Chapter 4

The Replimat, to Parmak’s eyes, was both a foreign and recognisable place. The noise, bustle and chatter reminded them of restaurants and mess halls back home, where loud chatter and vigorous debates were an indication that you were enjoying your food. But there were key differences too - the tables, set only for three or four people, unlike the usual Cardassian nine or ten; the mixture of social classes and castes, with no divisions or segregation; and the diversity of food available on the replicator menus, ranging from standard Cardassian fare to an elaborate Kzinti dish that Parmak had only seen after they treated a Kzinti trader for severe morning sickness.

Parmak had always been at home in a crowd, but there was something about the Replimat that set their teeth on edge. Perhaps it was the feeling of being watched, or the sudden lull in conversation as their part of the queue carme into view. Perhaps it was the fact that Elim Garak sat on the raised platform of the Replimat, secretly watching them over the rim of his tea cup. Or maybe it was the fact that Nura beside them was quite literally steaming from the ears, their anger translating into a stride that parted any standing patrons. 

“That Ferengi,  _ honestly _ .” Nura hissed, setting their tray down with a sharp  _ bang _ . “I’m still angry about him from last night. I’m still this close to ripping those lobes from his body-”

“Be fair, Nura.” Parmak said, setting their tray down. “The Ferengi didn’t know about Telyn - you can’t exactly blame him.”

“I bet he knew.” Nura snorted, already poking at their fried  _ regova  _ egg. “He could tell in those beady little eyes of his. Harassing us to go to that pokey bar of his, even with Telyn’s history-” They cut themselves of with an angry sound. Parmak peered disapprovingly from under their eye-ridges.

“Now you just sound paranoid.”

“Mark my words, Dr Parmak, they probably have a rule for it. Rule of Acquisition number 136: target addicts, whether former or current.”

“Are you still going on about last night?” Telyn plunked their tray down next to Nura’s. “Can we not talk about it anymore? I don’t want to go on about it. It’s done.”

“He might come back.” Nura said, looking up from their food. “I don’t want you hurt.”

“I’ll be fine. And anyway, I don’t think he’ll be coming back to you after you snapped at him.”

“I did not  _ snap _ .”

“You did something resembling a diThka fish, and if that’s not snapping-”

“ _ Honestly-” _

“If you’re going to argue across the dinner table, at least sit down and do it.” Parmak cut in firmly. “We’re not feral here.”

“Sorry, Dr Parmak.” Telyn slid down into their seat, looking slightly abashed. “What did you get to eat? That doesn’t look Cardassian.”

“Korma. It’s got vegetables of some kind, with different types of nuts and spices. Try some.”

Telyn stabbed a piece of vegetable from Parmak’s plate, and with no small amount of trepidation, popped the morsel in their mouth. Parmak watched with amusement as Telyn’s face went from nervousness, to suprise, to confusion.

“Good?” Parmak asked. Telyn swallowed, still looking confused.

“It’s…  _ good _ , but I don’t know  _ why _ .” Telyn finally said, running their tongue across their teeth. “I don’t know if I like it, but my mind wants more of it.”

“Well, you can get back in the queue and get some of your own - I want the rest of this. Talking of which - exchange? Pass me one of your  _ kemprel  _ balls-”

“Don’t take the big one- yes that one, don’t you  _ dare- _ ”

They bickered amicably for a few minutes, bickering about inconsequential things and fending off food theft from each other. Parmak felt far more relaxed after a few minutes, especially as everyone else in the Replimat stopped looking at them, but they kept a close eye on Garak, who was sat by himself to their right. Parmak was expecting him to have amassed some ragtag group of friends - Cardassians always aimed to have a ‘home group’ whenever they were away from home - but he seemed like he was alone this time. The polite Cardassian in Parmak was itching to tell him to get over here and join them, but they quashed the thought. Across the room was close enough, thank you.

Apparently Telyn had noticed the watching, and had come to an entirely different decision.

“Is that Mr Garak over there?” they asked, looking over at the solitary Cardassian.

“The tailor?” Nura looked too. “Well, they’re not one of us, so it’s gotta be him.”

“Why’s he on his own? Looks a bit lonely.”

“Maybe he’s picked up habits from the off-worlders here? There are a couple of offworlders sitting alone - look around.”

“Hmm.” Telyn paused for a moment. “We should invite him to sit with us.” 

Parmak choked on their juice, and needed Nura to give them a few hard slaps on the back.

“We absolutely should  _ not _ .” they spluttered, waving away Nura’s hand. “We are  _ not  _ inviting him over.”

“Why not? Cardassian meals are to be eaten together, and he’s on his own.”

“You don’t know anything about him. He could be a… a spy, or a Dominion sympathiser.”

“Now who’s being paranoid?” Nura snorted into their meal, and Parmak gave them a withering look.

“I have good reason for my caution. You know where we’ve come from, how careful we’ve had to be-”

“And the Captain has already assured us he’s safe - let’s invite him over-”

“Telyn,  _ no _ -”

Telyn half-rose from their chair, their mouth open to issue a retort, but the words didn’t escape his mouth - Nura caught their attention, and pointed to Garak’s table. A Starfleet officer had made his way to the table, and was chatting animatedly as he set down his tray of food. Dr Bashir, Parmak thought his name was - he was there to meet them when he arrived, although cloaked in darkness. In the bright lights of the Replimat, Parmak could now fully appreciate the man, with his hickory skin and expressive face, topped by a mop of curly hair not too dissimilar to their own.

“Look, he has a friend.” Parmak said, a little smugly. “Now we don’t need to have him over.”

Telyn very obviously signed an exasperated  _ Un _ but Parmak ignored them, instead focusing on their korma. Hopefully that would dissuade them from becoming too interested in Garak - the last thing Parmak wanted to do was organize a labor camp breakout to save Telyn’s curious hide. The entire table was quiet for a few moments, each picking at their food, before conversation started again. To Parmak’s horror, both the younger Cardassians were still far too interested in Garak.

“What do you think the relationship between those to is?” Nura asked, pointing their fork at Garak and his lunch mate. “I’ve been watching them for a while, and I can’t tell.”

“I don’t know... “ Telyn looked across at them, and frowned. “They look friendly. What are the Terran signs of romantic interest?”

“I don’t know - I’ve only read Terran classical literature, which might be a bit out of date.”

“Well, it can’t be too dissimilar.”

“Classical Terran courting involved the exchange of money, and pairing based on monetary value - given that the Federation abolished currency several hundred years ago… Do you know, Dr Parmak?”

“No.” Parmak replied, frowning. “Maybe you should leave them eat  _ in peace _ .”

“You’re no fun, Dr Parmak.” Telyn laughed, rolling a  _ kemprel  _ ball between their fingers. “Nura, admit defeat.”

Nura rolled their eyes, taking their cup for a sip of water.

“Fine, you win that one. What about Mr Garak though? What about his  _ Un _ ?”

They all peered closer, watched his body language and his  _ Un  _ signing, and- yes, that was flirty  _ Un _ . Elim Garak had a romantic partner. Parmak’s food suddenly looked completely unappetizing, and they pushed the tray away from them. Nura and Telyn didn’t notice.

“An offworlder relationship.” Telyn mused, popping the morsel of food into their mouth. “How  _ romantic _ .”

“Romantic? Don’t be absurd.” Nura put their cup down. “How is it any more romantic than an ordinary relationship?”

“An expat, thousands of miles from home, finds love in his doctor that transcends cultural boundaries? What could be more romantic?”

“Literally anything. Honestly, that sounds like a recipe for an ethical disaster. What happens when they break up?”

“You  _ always  _ think of the worst case scenario, don’t you?”

“One of us has to - it seems all those Terran romances are addling your brains.” Nura nudged Parmak. “You’re awfully quiet, Dr Parmak. What’s your opinion on this?”

“I think we should leave them alone.” Parmak said firmly, fiddling with a napkin to hide the slight tremor of their hands. “They’re leaving anyway - look the doctor’s going.”

Neither of them rose to the bait, instead peering at them with concern. “It’s not like you to turn down a good gossip, Dr Parmak.” Telyn said slowly. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Is it the Terran food?” Nura asked, inspecting Parmak’s plate. “Maybe it wasn’t as edible as you thought it was.”

“It’s not the Terran food.” Parmak thumbed their  _ chufa _ . “I just don’t particularly want to talk about him. If I never hear of Elim Garak again, I wouldn’t be sad.”

“ _ Elim _ Garak?” Telyn cocked their head. “You know them well then?”

“Not really.”

“Well enough to know his first name?”

_ Damn.  _ This conversation had started turning south. Parmak began planning an escape route.

“Is that why you reacted strangely to Garak’s name when we first got here?” Nura asked.

“You had a bit of a funny turn there - completely forgot yourself.” Telyn frowned, then their eyes widened as the penny dropped. “Wait, it wasn’t  _ him  _ who was a trigger for your-”

“Not  _ now. _ ” Parmak interrupted, pushing themselves away from the table. “I don’t want to talk about it. I’m heading back to the rooms.”

“Dr Parmak-” Telyn reached out, but aborted the move halfway and let their arm drop. “I’m sorry. I didn’t meant to upset you.”

“Please, sit back down.” Nura added, for once looking unsure of themselves. “We don’t have to talk about him if you don’t want to.”

“I…” Parmak looked at Garak, and then at the door. “No. I need… I need to not  _ be  _ here right now.”

“Alright.” Telyn blinked slowly, an  _ Un  _ for empathy. “Find us if things get bad, alright?”

“I will.” Parmak gave a little perfunctory bow, before fleeing through the Replimat door, feeling everyone’s eyes on their back. They kept moving, eyes to the floor, weaving through bodies by instinct rather than by sight, their mind running a mantra of  _ keep calm, keep moving  _ as they dodged and dived towards the Cardassian quarters. They had no idea who they were passing or where they were, or even what the ceiling above looked like - they only knew that this way was safe, this way would lead to friendly faces and calmer sky, this way was where Elim Garak could not reach them. Nothing else mattered.

As a result, they entirely missed the swing of a fist as it collided with the bridge of their nose.

  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

This was not how it was supposed to happen.

This was absolutely one-hundred-percent how it was  _ not  _ supposed to happen.

To be fair, Garak had never truly settled on a perfect scenario where he and Dr Parmak met. Most of his half-fevered thoughts had included the Replimat, or perhaps a new tunic or socks from his store, but nothing concrete. And yet, he knew without a doubt that finding Dr Parmak bleeding on the floor in a deserted corridor was exactly not what was supposed to happen. The small group of angry Bajorans stood over them was also an entirely unwelcome sight - Garak recognised one of them as a trouble maker who’d had altercations with Garak himself more than once. And judging by the snarl on his face, he too recognised Garak.

“I don’t suppose telling you how bad an idea this is will make you think twice?” Garak said mildly, slowly approaching the group. The lead Bajoran bared his teeth in response.

“Spoonhead.” he growled, and Garak carefully concealed the irritated twitch of his tail at the epithet. “I suggest you turn around and go back the way you came.  _ Now _ .”

Garak took his time to blink slowly, and watched as the Bajoran’s friends shifted behind their leader. “No.” he said. “I don’t think I will.”

“That wasn’t an  _ option _ .”

“I don’t particularly care.” 

“Are you  _ trying  _ to end up like your friend here?” The Bajoran gave Parmak a kick, but Parmak neatly rolled out the way, hissing - clearly they weren’t too badly injured.

“I’m just trying to mitigate any more damage.” Garak smiled blandly, with just a hint of threat. “You and I both know that the good Constable will be here on his rounds shortly.”

“Is that supposed to scare me?” the Bajoran tsked, but there was a note of uncertainty in his voice. Garak noticed his friend behind him exchanged a look, and his smile widened as he stepped forward. He was now within spitting distance of the group, and now stood over Parmak’s prone body. He looked down quickly, to ascertain any life-endangering injuries - Parmak’s nose was black and looked broken, and they had an arm hooked protectively over their belly, but their dark eyes were wary, cautious. Garak took a step over them, and stood nose to nose with the Bajoran, not bothering to hide the threatening flicker of his tail. The Bajoran’s frown deepened, and out of the corner of his eye, Garak saw the others arrange themselves for a fight.

“You know,” Garak said, almost as if they were having a calm, non-confrontational conversation. “There’s a well known saying on Cardassia.”

For a moment, the Bajoran looked confused. “And what’s that?”

“That you should never anger someone who knows more about your body than you do.”

His assailant laughed. “ _ Bullshit _ . This ‘doctor’ couldn’t even hold up to a little  _ slap _ .”

“Oh, I wasn’t talking about a  _ doctor _ .” Garak then smiled, all sharp teeth. “A  _ tailor _ works just as well.”

Garak almost didn’t dodge the Bajoran’s fist in time. With an angry roar, the Bajoran charged him, but Garak quite literally dropped to the floor into a bow-backed squat. The leading Bajoran, carried by forward momentum, fell head-first over his back and nearly cartwheeled into a nearby bulkhead, cursing. One of the other Bajoran’s went for him as he rose from the floor, but she didn’t get very far either - Parmak, from their position on the floor, grabbed one of her legs as she leapt over them, causing the Bajoran to faceplant into the floor at Garak’s feet. The third and final Bajoran took one look at the both of them, grabbed the back of the shirt of her friend on the floor and dragged her down the corridor. Seeing that his back up had deserted him, the leader followed, cursing and spitting. Garak turned towards Parmak, who was picking themselves up off the floor.

“How hurt are you?” Garak asked, taking a hesitating step towards them.

“I’m fine.” Parmak replied, almost on autopilot - Garak realised they weren’t quite meeting his eyes. “I… thank you, for helping me get rid of them.”

“I hate to be the one to break this to you Dr Parmak, but a broken nose is not  _ fine. _ You need to go to the medical bay.”

“It’s manageable. I’m a doctor, I can fix it myself.”

“Doctor, I’ve broken that part of my nose before, it is not  _ manageable- _ ”

“I didn’t realise  _ you’d  _ become a doctor after our parting.” Stars, Parmak was just as bad a patient as he normally was. Garak swallowed down a lump of frustration.

“If you won’t go to the medical bay,” he said, slowly. “Will you at least consider going to Constable Odo? He’s a good man, he’ll-”

“I’d rather not.”

“And why not? It’s not like Odo will turn you away - the man’s devotion to Justice is almost as great as our devotion to the State.”

“Excuse me if I don’t feel too devoted to the Sate at the moment.” Parmak commented drily. “But it seems to be infested by the Dominion.”

“Don’t take my words out of context.”

“I will do what I want with them. I’m not going - I’m not causing trouble, you know as well as I do that us Cardassians are in a precarious position here. I’m not jeopardizing that.”

Scratch that, Parmak was  _ worse _ than him, and seemed to have a horrifying propensity for martyrdom. Garak did not hide his frustration this time.

“Odo is not going to send you back there just because you raised a  _ complaint _ .” Garak said, trying to keep his temper in check. “And for all the Federation’s faults, they won’t send you back into a live warzone either.”

“I’m not risking it.” Parmak began walking away from him. “Thank you for your help, but I’ll be going now.  _ Salmakt. _ ”

“Dr Parmak-” Garak reached out and touched their elbow, but Parmak jerked away, as if they had been burned.

“Don’t  _ touch _ me!”

The sudden shout startled Garak, and he immediately dropped his hand. Parmak cradled the touched elbow close to their chest, hunched over it and facing away from Garak. But before he could say anything more, he heard a sudden rush of footsteps, running towards them. Garak turned to see one of Parmak’s Cardassian lunch companions a little ways down the corridor, the tall, wiry friend with cropped jet-black hair. The new Cardassian looked between them both, processing the shout, Garak’s falling hand, Parmak’s black nose… In a horrible jolt of realisation, Garak had sudden insight into the conclusion that this Cardassian must have drawn. By the sudden ‘o’ of Parmak’s mouth, they too had realised their friend’s thought process.

“Nura-” Parmak began, but Nura was already storming towards Garak.

“What did you do to them?” Nura demanded, their eyes shining silver.  _ “What did you do to them?!” _

“I-” Garak choked a little as Nura grabbed the neck of his shirt. “Dr Parmak, if you’d be so kind-”

“Nura, let go of him.” Parmak lay a gentle hand on Nura’s elbow, the the calming note in their voice somewhat beset by thickness caused by their broken nose. “It wasn’t him.”

Nura loosened their grip, but still looked angry. “This isn’t one of your ‘pretend it didn’t happen’ honour trips, is it Dr Parmak?” they asked, looking between Garak and Parmak. “Because if it is-”

“It was a group of-” Garak began, but Nura signed a sudden, violent movement.

“Not  _ you _ .”

“It’s not an honour thing.” Parmak tugged at Nura’s arm. “It was just a couple of thugs. Caught me by surprise - Mr Garak helped get rid of them. Let him go.” 

“I see.” Nura dropped their arm, and straightened their tunic. “Apologies, Mr Garak. And I suppose… a thank you is in order as well.” 

Garak nodded but said nothing, watching them warily. Parmak looked between the two of them, and once satisfied that Nura was not going to rip the neck-ridges off the man, spoke again.

“What are you doing here, Nura?” they asked. “I thought you were still eating.”

“Eating’s no fun without you around, Dr Parmak.” Nura laughed a little. “You always are the best to bicker with. Me and Telyn decided to go and look for you - they’re on the Promenade, window shopping probably-”

“That is one of their favourite hobbies.” Parmak snorted.

“-and I came to see if you’d gone to your rooms, and came across this.” Nura paused for a moment, and peered closely at Parmak’s face. “But enough of that. How are you feeling? That nose looks nasty.”

“I’m fine.” 

“And I’m the latest Gul of the Cardassian A fleet - come here and let me look at you-” 

“Nura-” Parmak batted feebly at Nura’s hands as they investigated their nose. “It’s just a broken nose and a few bruises, it’s not that bad-” 

“You and I both know the dangers of broken noses in Cardassians.” Nura said, flatly ignoring Parmak’s flailing hands. “Especially that close to the  _ chufa _ . Look up for me, please.”

“Then can we at least not do this in the middle of the corridor?! I’d like some privacy.”

“I’m not looking.” Garak interjected, turning around and inspecting the bulkhead that had until a few minutes held the face of the lead Bajoran. “You know, I think there may be a dent in this bulkhead from one of those thugs earlier.”

“Bajoran’s are bull-headed, but their ridges aren’t that strong.” Nura snorted, pressing on the areas around Parmak’s nose. “You’re seeing things.”

“You’d be surprised. I can see all the little ridgemarks.” 

“Have you always been this much of a liar?”

“Embellishing is always more fun than honesty.” Garak ran one finger down the wall. “He left some blood too.”

“Serves him right.”

“I hope it doesn’t stain his clothes - blood is a  _ terrible  _ stain to get out. And I am not fixing his clothes if he comes to me.”

“I don’t think he  _ will  _ be coming to you any time soon.” Parmak muttered, as Nura finished examining their face. “Well? Do I pass your examination, Nura?” 

“I think you already know.” Nura said, as Garak turned to face the group. “We need to get you to the medical bay, sort that nose out.”

“I… Nura, you know I don’t want to.” Parmak went to rub their  _ chufa _ , but winced and dropped their hand almost immediately. “I can just go back to our rooms, heal it myself.”

“We don’t have a bone regenerator - you know that. Just an old, temperamental dermal.”

“Then I’ll just set it and leave it.”

“Dr Parmak.” Now Nura was rubbing their chufa. “I’m not letting you walk around with a broken nose as some kind of honour wound.”

“It’s not a honour wound.” Parmak protested. “I just don’t want to go.”

There was a beat of silence, and then Nura spoke again, their voice suddenly became more gentle. “Is this because of…?”

Dr Parmak signed an  _ Un _ , one Garak didn’t recognise - which was unusual, since he could remember all the ones he’d learnt before exile. Was it perhaps regional, or a personal code? Nura was replying back with the same kind of signing, but with increased obvious frustration - the discussion didn’t seem to be going well. He watched, hawkishly trying to pick out the meaning of the signs whilst trying not to be too obvious about it. Finally, Nura let out a loud sigh, and threw their hands up in the air.

“Dr Parmak,” Nura said, with forcible calm. “Do you remember what you taught me about treating recalcitrant patients?”

“That you should give them time, and wait for them to come to the right decision?”

“Yes. I want to let you know that I respect your decision, and will give you time to make the right one later.”

Parmak exhaled. “Thank you.”

“I’d also like to let you know that the time you have to make your decision is the time it takes me to carry you to the medical bay.”

And with a quick “Good afternoon, Mr Garak!”, Nura picked up a squawking Parmak, and carried them down the corridor and out of sight.


	6. Chapter 6

This day had just gone from bad to  _ worse _ .

First, Parmak had had to deal with their protegees’ growing interest in a Cardassian that was absolutely no good for them. Then, after abandoning what was a perfectly good lunch, Parmak had faced off with a group of angry Bajorans, and had their nose broken. And to add insult to the injury of having had to be saved by Garak -  _ Garak,  _ of  _ all  _ the people on the station! - they were now en route to the medical bay, to Garak’s Terran partner, evidence of Elim Garak’s Perfect Life which, just rubbed salt and possibly acid into their wounds.

Well, at least Nura had put them down. It had taken some convincing on Parmak’s part, and several promises that they weren’t going to “run off” (honestly, they were going on sixty-five, it’s not like their knees were going to get them that far anyway), but now they could take the walk of shame with some kind of dignity. Garak was nowhere to be found, which was good, but odd - Parmak would’ve expected the man to not turn down an opportunity to see his partner. But Parmak wasn’t complaining, since they didn’t think they could’ve coped had they had to sit and watched the inevitable flirting between Garak and Dr Julian Bashir.

The medical bay was a pokey little place, far smaller than the grand halls of  _ hintik Goketh,  _ where they used to work. The ceiling hung low, with the top of Nura’s head brushing the lowest support beams, and most of the space was taken up by a large biobed in one corner and a research area in another, partially separated by a wall of screens. There were a few Bajoran nurses around, but they looked to be busy - or at least, were clearly not wanting to look their way. Parmak recognised the young, tawny doctor from the Replimat, who was currently staring down a microscope with a frown, but to his credit he looked up immediately as the doors swooshed open.

“Dr Parmak?” Julian smiled in greeting, but the grin faltered as he took in the askew nose and bruising. “Are you alright? Here, sit on the biobed- what happened?”

“”It’s not as bad as it looks.” Parmak protested, as they were shuffled onto the large biobed. “I just-”

“-found themselves on the wrong end of a Bajoran fist.” Nura interrupted, giving Parmak a pointed look. “Let’s not have one of your usual rambling non-stories, Dr Parmak. It’s not  _ fine _ .”

“They’re right, Dr Parmak.” Julian said, already inspecting their nose. “This place is rich with blood and cranial nerves in cardassians - you know that. Have you told Odo what’s happened?”

“I don’t want a fuss.” Parmak saw Nura gave a theatrical eyeroll at that, cocking themselves up against a support beam. “Don’t give me that look, Nura - it’s not like I knew their names, or could pick them out of a crowd. And you know we have to be careful.”

“And I still think you’re being ridiculous.” Nura replied. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed Dr Bashir, but Dr Parmak is a terrible patient.”

Julian laughed, and dropped his fingers from where they were probing Parmak’s broken nose. “Not to worry - I’ve had my fair share of reticent patients. Luckily for you, the fracture isn’t too bad - I should be able to regenerate the bone and calm the bruising within the hour.”

“That’s good.” Parmak smiled a little. “Thank you, Dr Bashir.”

The smile they got in response was bright and cheery. “It’s no trouble. Now, let me find my osteoregenerator… Honestly, in this space, you’d think you’d never lose anything but-”

Parmak watched Julian as he practically bounced around the infirmary, finding everything he needed to fix Parmak’s nose, nattering on about this and that and not really caring if Parmak was replying. Parmak really wanted to hate him, really wanted to  _ despise  _ the man for loving a man who did such terrible things, but Julian was just  _ too nice _ . He wasn’t supposed to be nice. He was supposed to be arrogant and irritating and mean and  everything that would fit as a “former” interrogator’s partner in crime. Hell, Parmak knew plenty of  _ Cardassian  _ doctors who would fit the bill exactly. But Julian smiled, all teeth and joy, and his eyes sparkled like they were truly enthusiastic about helping, and  _ stars  _ it was infectious, and Parmak couldn’t help but relax around him.

“Now, this may sting a bit.” Julian smiled at him, as he carefully set up his medical tools. “You were only hit once, right?”

“That’s right.” Parmak replied, leaning back into the biobed and crossing their ankles. “He got one good swing before your partner found me.”

“Partner?” Julian looked at them a little oddly.

“Mr Garak?” Parmak said, feeling a little needling of doubt. “I was under the impression you were together.”

Julian blinked, then laughed, his mouth widening into a toothy grin. “Oh! No, you’re mistaken. Garak and I aren’t together.”

Now it was Parmak’s turn to blink. “Not?” they asked, a little puzzled. “You seemed close in the replimat.”

“Ah.” Julian busied himself with the settings of the osteoregenerator, suddenly a little bashful. “We’re… well, we’re not really anything. Or we are, but… not like before.”

Parmak tilted their head to the left, and frowned. “You’re speaking  _ Uak’Un _ , doctor.”

“Sorry -  _ Uak’Un? _ Is that a Cardassian phrase?”

“Did that not translate? It means... “ Parmak sucked on a little air as they thought, wincing a little at the smell-taste of disinfectant. “It means you’re talking without precision. Not giving context that would make sense.”

“Oh, I see!” Julian thought for a moment. “I guess in Standard it would be ‘talking in tongues’.”

“What a funny expression.”

“That’s what we would call it.” Apparently happy with the osteoregenerator, Julian turned back to Parmak. “I only meant that Garak and I were closer before now. Look at the ceiling, please.”

“Closer?” Parmak tried not to flinch at the heat from the machine in Julian’s hand. “So you were together, but now you’re not?”

“Not... exactly. We could’ve been together, I think, but it just… didn’t happen. We were… nearly. A could-have-been. An almost.”

“An almost?” Parmak thought for a moment. “I think I understand. And you’re not… ‘almost’ together any more?”

“No. We’re… it’s like that awkward stage, when you’ve broken up but you don’t exactly want to separate. Except we didn’t break up, we just… drifted.” Julian laughed a little. “Am I speaking  _ Uak’Un  _ again?”

“A little.”

“Sorry. But yes, it’s a little awkward between us right now. I mean, this is the first lunch we’ve had since… well, since we retook Deep Space Nine back last year.”

“You’ve been avoiding each other?”

“Yes. No. Maybe?” Parmak raised an eye-ridge from the biobed, and Julian smiled ruefully. “I’m not avoiding him on purpose. I just… I find other things to do.”

“I see.”

“And I’m sure he has better things to do than have lunch with me. Maybe work more on his commissions, read books, that kind of thing.”

Julian sounded like he was more trying to convince himself than tell an approximate truth, but Parmak didn’t say anything. Instead, they patiently waited until Julian finished with the osteoregenerator, before sitting up and using their fingers to examine the Terran doctor’s handiwork. It was still swollen, and a little bruised but the bone was straight and far less painful than it had been. But as Julian began to calibrate the dermal regenerator, Parmak held up a hand to stop him.

“You won’t need to regenerate the bruising, Doctor.” Parmak said. “I’d rather use the Cardassian regenerator we have in our rooms.”

“Are you certain?” Julian replied, pausing in his fiddling of the dermal regenerator. “I assure you, this regenerator should be fine on scales…”

“It’s quite alright - I prefer to have my creature comforts.” Parmak laughed a little. “I’m old, and set in my ways.”

“If you’re certain…” Julian put the regenerator down. “Be sure to do it though, alright? I don’t want to see you walking around with it like some sort of trophy - God knows I have enough trouble with the Klingons doing that…”

“I’ll make sure they do.” Nura pushed themselves off the support. “Dr Parmak, I’ll do it for you once we get back. You’ll have a chance to sleep off the adrenaline before dinner with everyone else tonight.”

“Everyone else?” Julian asked, as he began to pack away his things. “You mean the rest of your group?”

“Yes.” Parmak hopped off the biobed, brushing down the front of their tunic.”It’s Cardassian tradition - you eat with your family at the end of the day, catch up on things. I guessed by the set-up of your Replimat that this isn’t a Terran tradition?”

“In some cultures, it is.” Julian thought, and smiled. “I remember when I was younger, we used to eat with all my cousins and my grandmother and my great aunts on certain days.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

“It was. It’s a shame we stopped the tradition, after visiting Adigeon Prime.”

“Adigeon Prime?” Parmak blinked. “You’re augmented?”

“Yes. It’s an open secret - I’m surprised you hadn’t heard it through the grapevine.” Obviously uncomfortable, Julian closed his medical kit with a snap, and gave Parmak a half bow, a traditional Cardassian parting gesture. “I hope your dinner goes well. And that you’re family are well too.”

“Ah, it’s not my family, not truly.” Parmak replied. “It’s mostly Nura’s, with a few of us stragglers.”

“You know we all consider you and Telyn family.” Nura added. “It is practically a family affair.”

“If you say so.” Parmak gave Julian a parting half-bow. “Dr Bashir, thank you for your help. And...” Parmak hesitated, warring with themselves, before almost forcing the words out; “I hope that your ‘almost’ with Mr Garak becomes far less confusing in the future.”

“Oh I doubt that - Garak always likes to stay one step ahead of me.” Julian laughed. “But it’s no problem.  _ Salmakt,  _ Dr Parmak.” 

With one last nod, and after looping one hand through the crook of Nura’s proffered elbow, Parmak left the medical bay, feeling like perhaps the truth about Garak was becoming muddier by the second.

 


	7. Chapter 7

For Garak, the rest of the afternoon passed rather uneventfully. After the brief altercation with Dr Parmak and their friend (Nura - that was their name, right?), Garak had slipped away down a side corridor to his store, still mulling over what had happened. Garak would’ve sworn that being a doctor would’ve made Dr Parmak far more amiable to being assisted when hurt, but it seemed the doctor was just as sensitive and as quick to fire up as they had been back during their… interrogation.

Perhaps that incident had made Garak far less aware of the doctor’s Cardassian nature. Or perhaps he’d just been around humans too long to remember that Cardassians despised being seen as weak, especially to people considered enemies. And Garak supposed that to Dr Parmak, he  _ was  _ the enemy - they may be sensitive and compassionate, but they were still a viper at heart. It was a fair judgement.

But didn’t he see, didn’t he  _ remember _ that Garak already  _ knew  _ his weaknesses? Another handful wouldn’t have mattered. And Parmak knew one of his weakness too, in a way - they knew of the black moral depths of his soul, of how far he has gone, could go… but that was no longer true. Parmak had the power to unravel him by picking at the thread of what he had done, reminding him of his past pleasures in serving his country, mixed with the sickness and the bleeding memory of Odo, of serving his father… his dead father, who died fighting his fatherhood to the last breath. Parmak did not know it yet, but if they looked in the right places, asked the right people, asked  _ him _ ...

He brushed the thought away brusquely. Pondering like this only lead to unnecessary anxiety, and besides, he had work to do. Afternoons were spent working on cracking code, and today was no exception - Garak worked through the missives with his usual methodical manner, but even then his thoughts turned to the Cardassian who was almost certainly now in the care of Dr Bashir. Luckily for him, the latest batch of missives was relatively small and didn’t take him long to complete - he found himself packing his things away into his bag roughly mid-afternoon, the time he normally shut up shop. 

Not that he was complaining - he hadn’t had an evening to himself in some time. He had a book hanging around that he’d started weeks ago and never gotten around to finishing, and he was certain that it would finally put these intrusive thoughts of Kelas Parmak to rest. Perhaps it would even settle him down to actually sleep through the night, rather than the insomniac wanderings that kept him awake most days. An evening alone, with a neglected book, perhaps a glass of  _ kanar _ , with no-one to disturb him...

“Good afternoon, Garak.”

...except an unexpected visitor, in the form of Counsellor Ezri Dax. And not very welcome guest either - Garak was fully prepared to pick up his bag and leave for the day. Putting on his best customer service smile, he turned to the short-haired Trill, who leant against the opening arch of his shop. 

“Counsellor Dax.” Garak smiled, with a hint of sharp teeth. “If you’ve come looking for a new dress, I’m afraid I’m closing for the day.”

“I don’t think I’ve worn a dress since I was six.” Ezri snorted. “Or, at least, since I was Jadzia. Does Jadzia even count as me, though?”

“I wouldn’t know.” Garak shut the drawer with a sharp  _ snap _ . “I’ve never experienced more than one life.”

“Right. Sorry.” Ezri pushed herself off the arch, and approached him with a slightly rueful smile. “Anyway. I came to discuss our ongoing therapeutic arrangement.”

“We still had one? I was under the impression that I was better. Cured, even.”

“Did no-one ever tell you not to lie to a counsellor?”

“Cardassia never had counsellors in the first place.” Garak inspected his hand-claws. “Or, at least, no-one admitted that they were one. Prime target for blackmail.”

“Of course, you Cardassians love your secrets.”

“Exactly.” Garak paused for a moment. “Am I to assume that Starfleet wishes for our sessions to continue?”

“In a sense.” Reaching the back desk, Ezri began tracing the slight scratches across the matte surface. “Starfleet wants a report from me on whether I think you’re fit to return to full  work - that is, the full volume of work, rather than the lighter version you’ve been running on.”

“And you don’t think I’m ready?” Garak’s tail swished agitatedly even as his tone was light. “Counsellor, I can assure you I’m no weeping damsel - I  _ am  _ ready, this work  _ needs  _ to be done-”

“No. It doesn’t.” That was a sharp tone of voice from Ezri, a little reminiscent of Jadzia. “This work can be - and has been - completed by other people. Other Starfleet personnel.  You need time to… fully unpack your maladaptive coping methods.”

“Maladaptive-!”

“Garak, I’m not here to argue. I am not signing a report to put you back on full duty.” Ezri took a deep breath, and breathed it out. “I also… don’t think I’m the right person to be helping you right now.”

Garak blinked. Seeing his expression, Ezri laughed a little, and smiled at him.

“Took you by surprise?” she asked lightly. Garak hid his momentary flummox by brushing a few particles of dust from a nearby stand.

“You didn’t seem the kind to give up.”

“Oh, that’s Jadzia, really. I tend to know when I should step away from something. I was basically working trial and error with you, and that’s not sustainable nor fair on you.”

“But you found the root of the attacks - which I am grateful for.”

“I found the root, but I know I’m not the right person to pull it out. You were right - I need to sort out everything with Dax and being a joined Trill first, before I help anyone else. But I have found someone who you might be interested in working with - there’s a Cardassian counsellor here, and they’re looking to set up.”

“Oh?” Garak’s immediate thought was Dr Parmak- but no, if Garak remembered rightly, Dr Parmak was an obstetrician. Unless they’d retrained (unlikely), or unless Ezri was under the impression he needed one (at his age, even less likely), it wasn’t going to be them, which was somewhat of a relief.

“Their name is Telyn Korat-Eman.” Ezri continued, oblivious to Garak’s internal ponderings. “They’re a counsellor, qualified three years ago under the Cardassian State Medical Protocol. You might have seen them around - long black hair, rather laid back?”

That must have been the other Cardassian Dr Parmak had been with at lunch - the rather mischievous-looking Cardassian, with the relaxed smile. Garak would’ve never pegged them as a counsellor.

“Are you certain they’re up to the task?” Garak asked. “I would’ve thought processing being a refugee would take up most of their time.”

“Honestly, I think they just want to get back some semblance of normality. I met them just down the Promenade just now - we got to talking, and we’re going to talk about it more over lunch tomorrow. I think they’ll happily take you on.”

“And Starfleet will accept their word?”

“Once they pass through clearing, yes. And they should be willing to cover their charges.” Ezri hesitated for a moment, then leant forward on the desk. “Look, I know you’re a private man, but this is necessary if you want to continue your work.”

“Hmm.”

“I just think it would be better for you to have someone who fully understands your culture, and how you think. Telyn would be a good fit for that. And your only other option is the holo-counsellor, and you know how often Quark records those things.”

Garak shuddered. Yes, he knew exactly how much Quark recorded, and there was no way he was having all his secrets recorded on tape, thank you very much. Not that talking to a therapist was much better - the good thing about Ezri was that she was not Cardassian, and therefore prone to forgetting details. A Cardassian counsellor didn’t forget, and that’s what made it such a tightly regulated profession back home - no-one wanted a counsellor to go rogue and spill all their weaknesses to an enemy. And that was also why Garak was hesitant to speak with this particular Cardassian - without the safeguards and checks of the State, Garak would be nervous around telling any Cardassian counsellor his weaknesses.

On the other hand, he needed counselling, if not to fully address his problems, then at least to get back to work. And although a nasty little voice at the back of his head suggested he stop his work entirely and stop killing people, even he knew that accepting defeat at the hands of this… illness of his would haunt him for the rest of the war, and far beyond it. And Garak knew in his heart of hearts that even if he did convince Ezri to continue with him, he wouldn’t get far - they just weren’t a good match, Ezri’s problems were only a small facet of that. 

Garak breathed in, and blew out the breath with a sigh. As with most things these days, it didn’t seem he had much of a choice.

“If you think it would help.” he told Ezri, shaking his head. “Tell Counsellor Telyn I’ll work with them.”

Ezri face broke into a wide grin. “That’s fantastic - I’ll knock out the details with them tomorrow. Hopefully, you’ll be having your first session with him sometime next week.”

Garak gave her a half bow as she left the store, a spring in her step. With one last look at the store in general, Garak picked up his bag and made his way back to his quarters, his thoughts drifting back to the neglected book and the fragmented thoughts of his past that awaited him there.


	8. Chapter 8

“It’s  _ disgraceful _ , what they did to you.  _ Disgraceful _ . I don’t see how you can let them get away from it.”

The dinner that evening had made for uncomfortable conversation. Of course, somehow the entire family had already heard of their altercation and their visit to Dr Bashir, and therefore the entire dinner was spent discussing the event, much to Parmak’s dismay. To be fair to Nura, they attempted to steer the conversation to safer waters, but their  _ adik  _ Alynant and sibling Napeth were forces to be reckoned with, and their gentler  _ yadik  _ Koronos was often roped in to their discussions. Telyn was happily keeping themselves out of it, drawing with Alynant and Koronos’ youngest child, Corryn.

Parmak was certain they would’ve left already had it not been for Mabyn, Nura’s warm-hearted  _ jayadik _ . Mabyn and Parmak had been young lovers once - it had not worked out, but Mabyn remained Parmak’s closest friend and occasional bedwarmer. Mabyn was also the only person in the group who knew exactly what the relationship between Garak and Parmak was. The wars had been hard on both of them - Mabyn had lost three limbs, and their combined mental health issues would make any therapist think twice, but Mabyn never failed to draw them away from the conversation, making Parmak laugh and creating a tiny safe space at the dinner table. At least, until someone addressed Parmak directly.

“I’m not going to cause trouble for us, Alynant.” Parmak explained patiently, idly slicing the last of their vegetables. “We should keep our heads low.”

“Unchecked aggression tends to cause trouble anyway.” Koronos added gently. “You should nip it in the bud - report it early.”

“ _ Yadik, adik _ .” Nura said, sighing. “Can we not talk about this? It’s their choice. And we’ve spoken about it all through dinner.”

“I…” Alynant looked as if they might argue some more, but they then deflated, and sighed. “Sorry, I have, haven’t I? Apologies, Dr Parmak.”

“You’re forgiven.” Parmak felt Mabyn’s hand enclose theirs, and they turned to smile at the other Cardassian. “I know you’re just worried.”

“We should just be glad Mr Garak found you when he did.” Mabyn said quietly. “I wouldn’t dare to think what had happened if he hadn’t.”

“That’s right.” Koronos began to stack the empty dishes, ready for disintegration. “You should think of getting him a  _ darm’a _ .”

“A  _ darm’a? _ ” For once in their very long life, Parmak was left speechless. A  _ darm’a  _ was a symbol of a favour owed, and Parmak had several misgivings about giving that opportunity to Garak. “I… it wasn’t  _ that  _ serious.”

“You were nearly killed!” Alynant interjected. “If Mr Garak hadn’t saved you…”

“Mr Garak did not save me. And I wasn’t even knocked out.”

“If Kelas doesn’t feel like sharing their  _ darm’a _ .” Mabyn added, tightening their grip on Parmak’s hand. “Then they don’t have to. You know  _ darm’a  _ not freely given is worth nothing, Alynant.”

“Well, yes… but this is important!”

“No, it’s not.” Mabyn gave Parmak a slight smile. “It’s fine for them to not give it if they don’t want to.”

“You do tend to exaggerate the need for things,  _ adik _ .” Napeth added, sipping their drink. “I mean, I remember when you made me make  _ darm’a  _ for all my teachers at school.”

“Well, they appreciated it, didn’t they?”

“I wouldn’t know - I threw them out before I got there.”

“Napeth,  _ why _ \- stars, nevermind.” Alynant covered their face with their hands, whilst everyone else tried and failed to hide their snickers. “Napeth, go and help your  _ yadik  _ with the dishes.”

“But it’s not my turn!”

“If you hadn’t thrown your  _ darm’a  _ out, it wouldn’t be your job. Nura, you too - I can see you laughing-”

The two eldest children each grabbed a dirty serving dish and shuffled into the kitchen, still sniggering. Koronos followed them with a stack of plates, exchanging an amused look with Mabyn. Taking note of the drama, Corryn’s dark head lifted from the drawing, and settled on Alynant.

“ _ Adik, _ ” Corryn asked. “What’s a  _ darm’a? _ ”

“It’s a square of fabric.” Alynant replied, giving the small child a smile. “With lots of patterns. It means we owe someone a big favour.”

“Oh.” Corryn thought for a moment. “Do we have any  _ darm’a? _ ”

“Not anymore. But we did - do you remember all the fabric we had tied to the replicator?”

Corryn’s eyes went wide. “But there were so many!”

“Yes.” Napeth was the one who answered, having returned for more dirty cookware. “But we had to spend them - to come here.”

“So we don’t have any?” Corryn chewed their bottom lip, looking disappointed.

“Nope. None left.”

“That’s really sad.” There was a moment of thinking, before Corryn’s expression morphed into determination, and they picked up their crayon. “In my picture, there’s going to be a lot of  _ darm’a,  _ I think.”

“Alright.” Napeth leant on the table, and ruffled Corryn’s hair. “But about Dr Parmak’s  _ darm’a _ -”

“Napeth, haven’t you got a table to clear?” Mabyn interrupted, pointedly looking at the last remnants of their dinner. “I can still see bits you’ve missed…”

Napeth gave a great big roll of their eyes. “Fine. Stay secretive. I can take a hint.  _ Adik _ , where’s the cleaner? Or do I need to replicate it?”

The attention drifted away from Parmak’s imminent  _ darm’a  _ to other matters. Telyn settled to draw with Corryn, making animated gestures with crayon, much to Corryn’s delight. Nura, Alynant and Koronos settled to chit-chat in a little group. Napeth went and locked themselves in their bedroom. Only Mabyn remained focused on them, moving their chair a little closer so that Parmak could feel the comforting pressure of their arm against their shoulder.

“I’m sorry, for them.” Mabyn said quietly. “You know how Alynant can get about tradition.”

“It’s alright.” Parmak rolled their neck around, stretching the taut muscles. “They only want the best.”

“Hmph. Still...” Mabyn sighed, and shook their head. “Let’s leave it be. What are you thinking?”

“I don’t know. Nothing. Everything.”

“Specific.” 

“Hush.” Parmak elbowed them, and Mabyn laughed. “Everything’s a little muddled right now. Do you remember how the  _ darm’a  _ used to be?”

“Like when we used to walk down  _ peylin _ street?” Mabyn asked, chuckling a little. “The  _ darm’a  _ used to flutter like  _ hiThmit  _ in the summer breeze.”

Parmak remembered -  _ peylin  _ street was a financial district street, filled with tailor shops and private medics and all kinds of places for the upper classes. Every building had a post to tie the  _ darm’a  _ to, as a sign of prestige, positioned so that they fluttered and flew in the wind like a wall of flame. When Mabyn and Parmak were young, this seemed like the utopia they could aim for, a world where favours ran like the streams of the  _ Unata  _ forests and they wanted for nothing. Now, Parmak knew better than that - the reams of  _ darm’a  _ quickly evaporated as the rich traded favours with the Dominion for a basic living standard. Parmak’s own collected  _ darm’a,  _ from a lifetime of work to the medical profession, vanished when they plotted their escape.

“They were beautiful.” Parmak admitted, sipping on their  _ rokassa  _ juice. “But from another time.”

“Another time? Doctor Kelas Parmak, don’t tell me you’re setting aside the old traditions?” Mabyn laughed, and downed their drink in one. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“It’s just… different now.” Parmak tapped a handclaw against the rim of their glass. “Like before it was prestigious, important… now it’s just currency you need to survive, you know?”

“Survival is a potent gift.”

“You know what I mean.” Parmak reached over to the table, and pulled off a bottle to refill both their glasses. “Besides, it’s not like Mr Garak needs it. He’s survived well enough without it.”

But even as they said that, Parmak doubted the statement’s veracity. Dr Bashir’s testimony had sown some seeds of doubt in his mind - the other doctor was clear that they were drifting, and he wasn’t even certain Garak even  _ had  _ other people to talk to, for stars’ sake. A nagging voice at the back of their mind pondered on whether Garak’s shop was the only good thing in his life. No matter how much Parmak hated Elim Garak, the voice would not go away - it was the voice of their bleeding heart, feeling empathy for everyone even if they honestly did not deserve it.

“You don’t sound very sure of that.” Mabyn remarked. Parmak sighed, and dropped their head on Mabyn’ shoulder.

“Just a few doubts I’ve been having. He might not have survived as well as I thought.” 

“Is that a gut feeling you’re getting?”

“Mmm.” Parmak paused. “That doesn’t change what happened.”

“No. It doesn’t.” Mabyn nestled their cheek in Parmak’s hair. “I remember what he did to you. You have every right to refuse him your  _ darm’a _ .”

“I don’t know if refusing would be more trouble than it’s worth.”

“He hurt you. I don’t want him to be in the position to hurt you again - you know he could use the  _ darm’a  _ to cause harm.”

“I… I can’t decide now.” Parmak rubbed their eyeridge with the heel of your hand. “I need time.”

“You take it, then.”

“But… I don’t want to make the decision alone. Will you stay over tonight? If your family hasn’t anything planned.”

“They don’t. I will.” Mabyn leant back enough to give them a smile. “You know I’ll be watching your back.”

Perhaps that was what they needed to hear in order to make the decision. Lying in Mabyn’s arms that night, Parmak curled the other Cardassian’s hair around their fingers, and made their decision. Garak couldn’t harm them now, not now they weren’t alone - Mabyn would be at their side, no matter what. The  _ darm’a  _ was a courtesy, a symbol of what already existed. And Parmak was a polite, upstanding Cardassian, and they were going to act as polite upstanding Cardassians did. And that meant recreating the traditional  _ darm’a, _ even if they would rather dunk their head several times in a bucket of cold water than see Garak again. 

“Painting, Dr Parmak?” Mabyn asked, as he ambled into the room the next morning, wearing a big fluffy dressing gown. “I haven’t seen you paint for a while.”

“Mmm.” Parmak mixed some of the paint. “I’m making Mr Garak’s  _ darm’a.  _ The replicators here didn’t have the pattern I was looking for.”

“Oh, I see.” Mabyn perched on the edge of the table, and peered at the fabric. “Do you have a pattern? Or are you making one up?”

“You know more than anyone I’ve never thought up a creative thought in my life.” Parmak frowned at the canvas, and added a few dots. “I looked up a few before I started.”

Mabyn laughed, and traced the dry patterns on the topside of the fabric. They spoke the meanings of the symbols under their breath -  _ taszaufsi, perr’rat, lo’arGret _ ; adversary, small duty, truce, all looped and linked in a multitude of dots and smooth streaks, repeated again and again and again. Parmak didn’t watch Mabyn read them, instead carefully inking the last remaining patterns onto the fabric.

“It’s fitting, I think.” Mabyn said quietly, dropping their arm. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I’ve never been less sure in my life.” Parmak replied, laying down their paintbrush. “And yet, I should do it.”

“You know that I wouldn’t look down on you if you don’t.” Mabyn put their real hand on Parmak’s. “And the rest will come around. I’ll see to that.”

“I… no.” Parmak shook their head. “Thank you, but... it needs to be done. I need to do it.”

“Alright.” Mabyn gave their hand a squeeze, before letting go, and moving towards the replicator. “Meet me for lunch, and tell me how it goes. And have breakfast with me too - No use going to battle on an empty stomach.”

“Of course.” Parmak smiled. “My usual, if you remember - and don’t try and sneak  _ tiamar  _ sauce into it like you did last time we had breakfast, you know I hate it-”


	9. Chapter 9

To say Garak was surprised to see Parmak outside his store the next morning would’ve been quite the understatement. 

In fact, Garak had to duck back out of the Promenade, hide at the back of Quark’s, rub his eyes and double check that he wasn’t seeing things. But no - there stood Kelas Parmak, kinked hair tied back in a loose ponytail, forelock braid looping from the hair tie, examining one of the tunics in his window. Garak’s instinctual reaction was to  _ run run run,  _ because this was it, this was when Kelas Parmak confronted him about his past sins in front of the entire Promenade, but the more rational side of his brain told him to stay. Dr Parmak had every right to be angry, but they were also sensitive - they wouldn’t like to cause a scene. Garak dithered at the back of Quark’s, warring between running away and confronting the doctor, until the Bolian merchant next door was staring at him with obvious interest and Garak finally decided to hold himself up by his tail and go to find out what exactly the other Cardassian wanted. 

“Dr Parmak,” Garak greeted, feigning nonchalance as he ambled towards his own store. “I’m glad to see Dr Bashir managed to heal your wounds.”

“Quite.” Parmak replied, touching their nose lightly. “I, ah… apologize for being here so early - I didn’t know when you opened shop.”

“It’s of no consequence.” Garak unlocked his shop, and ushered Parmak in. “What can I help you with today? You know, that tunic you were admiring is discounted.”

“Ah, no, thank you.” Parmak barely looked at the garment, instead fishing out a small package from their pocket. “I only came by to deliver my  _ darm’a  _ for you.”

Garak froze. “A  _ darm’a? _ ” He asked, mentally trying to shake the fog from his head. “What for?”

“For yesterday.” Parmak took a deep breath, and spoke with their eyes trained to Garak’s collar. “You stopped what would’ve certainly been quite the beating, and you got me out of harm’s way. That’s worth of some  _ darm’a,  _ at least.”

Parmak handed him the folded fabric, and Garak took it carefully, unfolding the thin, almost translucent fabric and reading the symbolism -  _ taszaufsi, perr’rat, lo’arGret _ , oh very fitting. Garak had never been rich in  _ darm’a  _ \- it had not been something afforded to him often in his caste - but he remembered the times he did get it. During Bamarren, he gained the  _ darm’a  _ of several of his peers, and then later, when he taught a small class how to fight in the practice fields, many paid him in  _ darm’a  _ as thanks. He remembered tying them to the end of his bedposts, on the door handle, on the banister, until Mila had very firmly told him to go spend some of it before it could clutter up anymore of the house. It was a point of pride, and to have Parmak give it freely after what he had done...

_ Was this a test?  _ Garak wondered. He wouldn’t lie, Garak’s first instinct was to hoard the  _ darm’a  _ away, saving it for a rainy, stormy day, but something made him hesitate. Perhaps it was the peculiar stiffness in Parmak’s spine, the forced nature of the signing of their  _ Un _ , or perhaps it was something more instinctual. But Garak felt that this was a crossroads of some kind, a splitting of the road into two opposing forks. He could accept the  _ darm’a,  _ hold on to it, but then it would hang over Parmak’s head much like the human sword of Damocles. Or he could do something different, so that the sword clattered harmlessly to the floor - not refusal, Garak got the distinct impression that the small Cardassian would not take no for an answer - but perhaps a second solution, where the  _ darm’a  _ was not a liability…

And slowly, an idea formed in his mind that could both assuage his curiosity about the doctor, and had the benefit of resolving the situation most amicably. 

“I thank you for the  _ darm’a _ .” Garak said, after a few moments. “I’d like to cash it now, if you don’t mind.”

“Now?!” Parmak’s eyes went wide. “I… of course, but do you not wish to save it?”

“No. I have a particular task you may be able to help with. Are you any good with sewing?”

“I can stitch up a good wound - I’ve never tried it with fabric.”

“That’ll do. You see, every couple of weeks I get a new shipment of fabrics, out of which I make basic necessities - underwear, socks, tights, you understand?”

“Yes...”

“However, since I make them in bulk, I often don’t have the time, nor the patience, to stitch on labels - which are required by Federation and Bajoran law. I currently have a crate of necessities that have no labels - if you were willing to assist me in sewing labels, occasionally pairing socks, then I would consider that adequate repayment of the  _ darm’a. _ ”

“You want to use your  _ darm’a  _ to have labels sown for you?” Parmak blinked a couple of times. “That’s one of the most unusual  _ darm’a  _ repayments I’ve heard of.”

“I wouldn’t say that - I’ve heard of certain individuals who’ve used their  _ darm’a  _ to complete various menial tasks - a specific chore, a run to the market for supplies…”

“Alright, you’ve made your point. I’ll do it.” Parmak rubbed their  _ chufa,  _ looking a little stressed. “Where are the things?”

“Here.” Garak led Parmak to a box-laden worktable with two chairs in the back corner - behind the counter, but within view of the main entrance. “The top box is socks, the one on the left is underwear. Ignore the baby clothes box on the right, but take your pick otherwise - I’ll darn whatever you’re not doing.”

“I’ll do socks, I think.” Parmak plucked the box, and sat primly in the right hand chair. “How should I stitch these? I wasn't aware that you could have labels on socks.”

“It’s more like a prestige patch. See this one-” Garak picked up a premade pair of socks from the stand, and showed Parmak the brown leather-like patch. “Just cuff the lip, then straight stitch across the base. Then find its pair, and do the same.”

“Alright.” Parmak fished out a set of needles and thread, and busied themselves with threading it. Garak settled in the spare seat with his own box, watching Parmak out of the corner of his eye. And even though he was soon elbow deep in pants of varying sizes, he was highly aware of Parmak watching him right back, their eyes flicking over to him every few seconds, as if… waiting. Expecting. Dreading. 

“Do you know much about Federation culture, Dr Parmak?” Garak asked, in order to disturb the somewhat tense silence that had descended. Parmak started and dropped their needle. 

“I know enough to get by.” Parmak responded warily, picking up their needle again. “We had a few Federation fiction books - Terran and Vulcan, mainly - and the captain here gave us a handbook on general Terran, Bajoran and Klingon mannerisms, since they’re the main species here.”

“Hmm.” Garak finished stitching the label onto the knickers he was holding. “Did you find it as lacking as I did?”

Garak made sure to keep their  _ Un neutral _ , and not accusatory. Parmak eyed him warily for a few moments, before slowly replying: “I had expected it to be longer than sixteen pages. The one we received when the Dominion took over was nearly ninety.”

“Indeed. Through experience, I’ve learnt that that handbook leaves out a great deal. Did you know that Human’s don’t value age as highly as we do? Youthful rebellion is seen as the real force in their world.”

“That’s a pity.” Parmak replied dryly. “I didn’t grow old to be challenged by a little rebellion.”

Parmak’s  _ Un  _ signified wry humour, which was a step up from wariness, and so Garak laughed. “Quite. You know, there is a book I’ve read that you might be interested. A Human book.”

“Oh?” Parmak looked up from the sock they’d been labelling. “What’s it called?”

“ _ Les Miserables.  _ It has rebellion, romance, a little intrigue…”

“And I guess it has the ever trite Human happy ending?”

“Oh no, the rebellion fails and most of them die. Which is what endeared it to me, I believe.”

Parmak shook their head. “Honestly. A Cardassian novel masquerading as a Human one. I should’ve guessed.”

“I wouldn’t disregard it because of that. I found it was especially useful in predicting Human behaviour in times of war. It was very helpful once Starfleet requested my assistance.”

“You work for Starfleet?” Parmak looked at him, mildly surprised. “Are you a Federation citizen now, then?”

“I don’t think Cardassian-Federation relations are  _ that  _ warm.” Garak shook his head, and folded another garment. “No, I just do their paperwork when they need an extra set of hands.”

“I’m certain.” Parmak’s  _ Un  _ clearly said ‘liar’, and Garak smiled innocently back. 

“It’s challenging paperwork, at the very least. And, of course, there’s a need to learn Federation culture, especially Terran culture, to work with the Federation. Have you ever been to Earth, Doctor?”

“No. I’ve not left Cardassia since my youth - and even then, it was only to the outer colonies.” Parmak inspected a pair of black socks, frowning. “Warp sickness is a pain, sometimes. Are these socks not pairs, or has the wash just faded one of them?”

Garak leant over and inspected the offending garment, noting the tenseness in Parmak’s shoulders as he leaned over their shoulder. “Not a pair.” he said decisively, leaning back into his own space. “The lighter one’s pair is near your left hand, see-”

“I see, thank you.” Parmak paired them, and picked up the needle to darn the label. “Do people really need two shades of grey socks?”

“They do when I sell them.” Garak inspected a lace undergarment. “Woe betide the customer who walks out with socks just a shade off the right colour.”

“You sound like a Ferengi. Are you friends with the Ferengi that runs the bar - his name’s Quark, I think?”

“Quark and I are friends in a strictly business sense.” Garak paused to cut his thread with his teeth. “If we were any closer, Quark would hike his prices for me and call it a ‘friends and family discount’.”

Parmak snorted. “And I’m guessing he pays the same price as everyone else when he comes to you?”

“There is no ‘friends and family’ discount here - can you imagine patrons trying to cozy up to me for a discount?” Garak shuddered. “Ghastly. And anyway, Dr Bashir would use it endlessly to buy costumes for his adventures in the holosuite with Chief O’Brien.”

Garak’s flippant  _ Un  _ did not disguise the bitter undercurrent to his words. Parmak picked up on it, and opened their mouth to respond, but evidently decided against it, and changed tack. 

“What about family?” they asked, inspecting their newly sewn label. “I noticed a box of baby clothes in the corner - reserved for your child?”

Garak laughed, surprised - surely  _ Parmak  _ could tell that he’d be utterly unsuited for fatherhood… “No, no. I have no family that visits. ” Seeing the sympathetic look blooming on Parmak’s face, Garak scowled and hurried on. “Those clothes are for Kirayoshi - the son of Chief O’Brien and Keiko O’Brien - our resident botanist. You may have seen the Chief, if you’ve visited Quark’s - he spends much of his time there.”

Now it was Parmak’s turn to be surprised. “Ah,” they said, smiling a little ruefully. “I’m afraid we haven’t met - I haven’t yet been inside Quark’s.”

“But you’ve met Quark?”

“Once. We - that is, Telyn, Nura and I - met him a few weeks ago. I’m afraid Nura took a little offence at his… enthusiasm.”

“Enthusiasm?” Garak laughed a little. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“Quite. Even so, we probably won’t go - it’s… not the place for us.”

There was something extra to Parmak’s words, but Garak did not have time to question it - Parmak had turned back to their pile of socks. Garak watched as they held up a pair to the light, and hissed a little. 

“Honestly,” Parmak sighed. “The only difference with these is that one thread runs vertical, and the other horizontal.”

Garak let the change of subject slide with only a raised eye ridge. “The vertical goes better with pinstripes, I find.”

“You won't be able to  _ see  _ them, unless you wear them with sandals-”

“Please, do  _ not  _ give my customers ideas.”

“I’m certain that in some situations socks and sandals would be warranted-”

The rest of the morning passed in small talk. Parmak slowly began to relax, and even bantered a little on light topics and passing fancies. Garak did not dare bring up the past, should it shatter the fragile little peace that had developed between them. Instead, he smiled, laughed when appropriate, and sewed labels to undergarments, as well as dealing with any customers that came in that morning. Several of them looked curiously at Parmak working away in their corner, and asked questions - Parmak replied perfunctorily, with a gentle smile, but for the most part kept to themselves. The morning wore on, and, having had considerable practice at darning labels, Garak finished his stack of clothes a little before lunchtime, and a little before Parmak, which allowed him sometime to replicate a copy of  _ Les Miserables,  _ which he proffered to Parmak just before they left. 

“This is the book you were on about?” Parmak asked, turning the PADD over in their hands. 

“Yes. It’s long, but helpful. There’s also an auditory version too, if you’d rather listen to it.”

“Thoughtful.” Parmak looked at the PADD once more, before pocketing the device. “Thank you.”

“It’s no trouble. Will you be dining with your friends today - Nura and Telyn, correct?”

“That’s right, but not today - I promised Mabyn I’d take them to the Klingon restaurant today?”

“Mabyn?” Garak recognised the name, and racked his brains to remember. “That’s your lover - they were a foreman’s child?”

Parmak’s face darkened, their tail stuttering in it’s languid swaying, and Garak suddenly realised that perhaps mentioning something he’d learnt from their interrogation was not the best move he could’ve made. Parmak took a step back from him, eyes downcast, and Garak knew better than to follow. 

“Yes, that’s them. We’re not lovers any more.” Parmak’s voice was strained, and they looked towards the entrance of Garak’s store. “I’d better get going.”

“Of course. Feel free to come back if you ever need new clothes.”

“I’ll consider it, Mr Garak.”

“No ‘Mr’, Dr Parmak.” Garak accompanied Parmak to the hallway, where it had just begun to bustle with the lunchtime rush. “Plain, simple Garak.”

Parmak nodded, before turning to the hallway to leave. They took one step into the crowd, but to Garak’s surprise, they stopped. Parmak took a moment to think, frozen mid-step, staring out into the crowd with unseeing eyes. Garak was about to ask what exactly had caught the doctor’s attention, but before he could, Parmak turned back to face Garak, a decisive look burning in their penny-brown eyes.

“No.” Parmak said quietly. “‘Plain and simple’ is exactly what you’re not. I shan’t call you that.”

Garak blinked. “Then what will you call me?”

Parmak thought for a moment. “Elim. Your name is Elim. And that’s what I’m going to call you.”

And with that, Parmak slipped into the crowd, leaving Garak alone in the entrance of his shop, blinking at the space where they had been. 


End file.
